In Apartment 3B
by LucyLiterate
Summary: I'm in a room surrounded by people yet completely alone. Starving with a full plate a food. I need a reason to go on in life, something to make want to be alive not just live.
1. Chapter 1

White and vast, sometimes I get lost staring at my ceiling for hours. I'll never change the color. I imagine it deep blue like the ocean or maybe a mossy green, like the kind that grows on the trees, but I will never change the color. Change requires motivation and me leaving my bed. I've been in my bed for three days. I do get up to pee. I'm not quite that depressed yet, though I can't imagine it's far off.

Rolling over I take in my shitty surroundings. I have a crappy apartment in a decent neighborhood, little to no furniture, and zero decorations.

It suits me well.

I have no one to blame for my complete mental instability but myself. I grew up with decent parents in a quaint suburb outside Seattle. The overly friendly neighbor-man down the street didn't molest me, I don't have mommy or daddy issues, I just have issues. I've seen my fair of hard times in life, but not more than my share. Of course this train of thought just makes me feel worse. How worthless am I? I can't even handle normal shit.

I do a decent job of hiding my anxiety from my friends. On the days I go MIA, I'll reply to calls with texts that say, "out for a jog, call you later" or, "I'm with somebody." They either know I'm lying or don't care. Either way it works for me.

The clock reads four in the afternoon; I really should shower this week. I also need to make a trip to the store. I need my medications filled, vodka, and more saltines. Maybe this time I'll get some bananas too. It's also Saturday, which means my weekly lunch with my father is tomorrow. I both love and hate Sundays. I love my father and I adore spending time with him; however pretending to be normal for his sake damn near kills me ever time. I'll spend the next day contemplating swallowing a bullet or a bottle of pills, knowing that I'd never do either, because killing myself would devastate my family. As much as I may hate myself I love my family.

I hear a door shut and the familiar walk of my neighbor, 3B, and a thud against my front door, three quick taps, and they walk away. This has been going on for two years. Two years after one encounter when I stopped them from throwing away the newspaper. Ever since then everyday when they are done it's on my doorstep. We haven't uttered a word since. I like to imagine 3B is perfect. No hang-ups, no multiple bottles of prescriptions next to their bed, and their apartment is nicely furnished. Hell, they might even have milk in the frig that isn't curdled. I imagine they are perfect, but I know in reality no one is perfect.

Maybe, I'll take a shower tomorrow before lunch with dad. He'll like that.

* * *

**So this is my attempt to get my head back into writing. **

**I've been having a very difficult time the past 6 months.**

** I am hoping to work out at least one chapter everyday even if it is only just a few words. Getting back in the mindset is harder than anything. **

**Having said that, I will not say who the POV is, I do know. I not sure where this story is going because it's an exercise, hopefully an enjoyable one. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: It probably goes without saying but none of the chapters are beta'ed. I'm going straight from mind to mac, if ykwim? So please excuse all the mistakes, I'm sure there are a ton.**

* * *

Lunch with my dad went well, it usually does. We've always gotten along. We spent two hours talking about nothing at a local diner. He ordered the large garden salad with oil and vinegar on the side; I ordered a double-cheese burger with everything. I would occasionally ask if he wanted a bite, and he would pretend he didn't. We both know the only reason he is eating that salad was because of the massive heart attack he suffered two years ago. Thankfully, he lived, but only just.

That was a bad time for me. He spent two months in the hospital. The stress of not knowing if he was going to live or die damn near killed me. I barely held on for my mom. She deserved so much more than a child that couldn't keep their shit together when things got rough. I wasn't able to look her in the eyes until after he came home and was released from bed rest. Of course not being able to meet my mother's soul penetrating gaze is nothing new.

Lunch came to an end with a reminder to call my mom and a hug. Before he released me, holding me a shoulders length my dad said, "You know, if you're gay, it's okay. We would love and support you." I couldn't help but laugh, ever supportive no matter what. After thanking him for his unnecessary, but no less touching words, I assured him of my heterosexuality and headed home.

Sometimes I wish I had shitty parents, someone to blame for my problems. Whenever I think that way I inevitably end up pissed off at myself. It's incredibly selfish to wish away wonderful people like my parents, especially when so many people have assholes to raise them. My self-loathing leads to drinking. And drinking, especially alone is never a good thing.

I'm more than half way through my vodka bottle when I hear 3B open their door. Good thing I didn't go far when I came home from lunch, from my seat on the floor next to the door I can reach the knob. Before the thud of the paper even hits the ground I've opened the door. It is clear 3B was startled, not everyday you see your neighbor drunk, on the floor, with their head hanging out the door.

I look up for some reason feeling bold. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe I've been thinking about my parents and their relationship too much, or maybe I'm just really fucked up.

"Wanna drink?" because nothing says come on in like a cheap bottle of vodka.

I'm just really fucked up.


End file.
